


5 Stops on the Way to Newmerica

by sdwolfpup



Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Kissing, Road Trip, Warphy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 19:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16414640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwolfpup/pseuds/sdwolfpup
Summary: She'd just gone with Murphy because that's what they did: they found each other and then they went together.**********It's a long road from Cooper's farmhouse to Newmerica, and Warren has a lot to think about.





	5 Stops on the Way to Newmerica

The tractor lasted four and a half hours, all of which Murphy slept through. Warren preferred it that way; she didn't want to talk and who knew what stupid shit Murphy might have said trying to make her feel better. Better to let the steady buzz of the engine and the crunch of gravel under the tires drown out the despair shouting loud in her heart. Better instead to think of that bright, pure bolt of joy when it had been Murphy she discovered in the trunk. She'd been so shocked, not just by what Cooper had done, but with how happy she'd been to see Murphy's face – even gagged and red-skinned. 

After they'd slammed the trunk on Cooper and Warren's futile dreams for a life outside of the apocalypse, she and Murphy had returned to the farmhouse. Murphy silently stood in the living room, long arms hanging awkwardly, while she picked up a few of her things and went upstairs. As she grabbed her machete she'd heard the front door open and close. Space and quiet was what she wanted and somehow Murphy – who had a jackass remark for every occasion – had known that. 

Maybe whatever had turned him red had knocked some empathy into him, too. But she'd seen that change in him even before Black Rainbow, after Lucy. Warren glanced over at him now, stared at his red skin while he snored softly. 

The tractor sputtered, slowed, and then jerked to a stop. Murphy startled awake. 

“What? What is it?” he said, hands clenching into fists. 

“Just the tractor,” Warren said into the quiet. “Ran out of fuel.”

“Already?” He pulled off his sunglasses and she stared into his mixed-color eyes. They'd been blue the last time she'd seen him, back in the bunker. When her hair had been white and her heart hadn't hurt so much. 

“Tractors aren't known for their fuel efficiency. Come on, time to walk.”

Murphy groaned and flopped his head back. “Can't we at least rest here a bit?”

“Rest? You've been sleeping the whole time!”

“Then let me wake up or whatever. I can't just leap out of the tractor and go.”

Warren shook her head, but they both sat there for another minute. Her butt was starting to hurt. 

“Where are we, do you think?” Murphy asked. 

“You'd know better than me.”

He was quiet and then said, “I found the drone, you know. Where it crashed.”

“How?”

“Followed your trail.” Warren frowned at him. “Not anything physical,” he explained, “but I could feel you were alive so I left the others and went looking.”

She lifted a brow. “You came out here alone for me?”

“Yes,” he said and that one word was so defensive, she felt a little bad for her disbelief. 

She knew she should thank him, tell him she was glad he did come for her, but she couldn't form the words. What Cooper had done wasn't Murphy's fault, she was just tired of how dramatically her life changed every time she and Murphy found each other. 

“You're welcome,” Murphy grunted and then swung his lean body out of the tractor. 

Warren sighed and got out too, stretched her legs while Murphy took a piss on the other side of the tractor. She relieved herself behind a low, scrubby bush, and when she stood again she saw Murphy kicking a rock down the road. There was something so petulant in the act that it oddly made her feel better. He may sometimes be the most annoying man in the apocalypse, but after all these years she could trust him to be himself. And, it seemed, rely on him to come find her. Warren jogged a little to catch up to him and said, “thanks for looking for me.”

Murphy looked down at her. “Any time,” he said and she believed him.

**********

They walked for a few more hours, heading west and a little north, to hold off the chill of Canada as long as they could. Warren didn't talk much and even Murphy seemed to run out of things to say once he'd filled her in on what he and their friends had done post-Black Rainbow. Murphy didn't ask what had happened to her and when they both fell silent, it was comfortable.

As the sun neared the edge of the horizon in front of them, they passed a ramshackle barn standing like a hunched-over old man in the dry field and Warren directed them to it. There were holes in the roof and one side sagged, but there were no zombies or even anything long dead, and it blocked out the wind that was picking up as night rolled in. 

They fell into a routine born of their many years on the road together. Murphy collected fallen pieces of wood for the fire while Warren opened a few of the jars of food they'd taken from Cooper's house. She and Cooper had eaten this stew the night before Murphy arrived and the smell of it now made Warren's stomach turn over. She stared at the thick chunks of potatoes and carrots they'd harvested from Cooper's early crops and she had to blink back tears. 

“Everything ok?” Murphy asked, his arms full of firewood. 

Warren pressed her hand quickly to each eye and nodded. “I cleared a space for the fire over there, it has the best ventilation.” Murphy did as she directed, as she knew he would. He might complain about it, but he would do it.

They started the fire and while the stew heated, Murphy told her stories she'd heard many times before, over many different fires and in many different places. The familiarity soothed her, and once the food was ready Warren ate a whole bowl. 

“So...do you wanna talk about it?” Murphy asked, his voice barely audible above the crackle of the small fire. 

“About what?”

“You know. What happened to you.”

“I crashed. You found me.”

“And Cooper?”

Warren's stomach twisted. “I told you he was just-”

“Some guy. Yeah that's bullshit.” Warren looked over, startled by the sharp anger in Murphy's voice. 

“Murphy.”

“Don't Murphy me, I know I'm right. I know you, Roberta. After all these years, and all these...things that we've been through. What did he do to you?”

She gnawed her bottom lip and stared into the dancing flames. “It doesn't matter.”

Murphy grunted, was quiet for a breath, and then said, “Look, you've- we've all been through a lot. But I'm worried about you. You don't seem like you anymore.”

“Like me?” She laughed, a dry sound that scraped through her throat and fell dead on the floor. “Who would that person be? The one that cut off Vasquez's head? The one that got mind raped? The one who killed a little boy so we could reset the damn planet? Which version of me should I be, Murphy?” 

Murphy blanched, but where before he would have backed down, this time he leaned towards her instead. “The one that still believed there could be something more than all this.”

“Well this is it. This is life now. There isn't any more than this,” she gestured at the deteriorating walls of the barn. 

“If you believe that, why are you coming with me to Newmerica?”

Warren pulled her knees tight to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She didn't know why, she realized; she'd just gone with Murphy because that's what they did: they found each other and then they went together. She hadn't left because of Newmerica at all. “He didn't hurt me,” she said softly. “Not before you showed up, at least. He was...sweet. Gentle. A good cook and dancer. What he did was give me false hope.”

She waited, but Murphy was quiet. She lifted her gaze to find him staring at the fire, too, his expression unreadable. Exhaustion washed through her, suddenly, as though laying down the load in her heart had made her realize how tired she was. 

“Good night, Murphy,” she said, stretching out and turning on her side away from him. 

“Good night, Warren.” 

They slept near each other on the lumpy barn floor, and though Murphy's warm presence wasn't like Cooper's at all, she was grateful to have him at her back.

**********

Mid-afternoon two days later, they found a minivan parked in the middle of the road, front doors open wide. Warren stopped a hundred feet away, considering it. It looked to be in working condition, like someone had just parked it and run.

“What are you doing?” Murphy asked impatiently at her side. “Let's go see if it works.”

“Why is it here? And where are the bodies?”

“They probably got up and walked away. People turn into the undead now, remember? Zombies. You might have heard of them?”

Warren rolled her eyes. “It's just the two of us, we've gotta be smart.”

“Honestly I'd rather be killed then walk another mile right now.”

“Sounds like you've got stamina problems,” she said, scanning the area. Tall grass spread out in every direction, and there was a tree a short distance away, but nothing that looked like it could be an ambush. She started towards the car. 

“I do not have stamina problems!” Murphy yelped behind her. “Take that back!” 

Warren smiled a little to herself. “Take it easy, I was referring to your feet.” She peeked inside, ready to reach for her weapons, but there was no one there. No dead bodies, no zombies, not even any blood. “What happened here?” she murmured. 

From behind her, Murphy muttered “I can go exactly as long as a man my age should be able to. And even longer!”

Warren turned to him to reply when saw movement past his shoulder. Zombies leapt up from the nearby tall grass with a snarl. “Shit,” she said. “Puppies and kittens! A lot of them.” 

Murphy spun on his heel and had a gun out almost as quickly as she did. Warren glanced behind her through the window of the passenger side, saw zombies coming from there, too. She counted quickly – four on their side, three on the opposite. Seven to two weren't great odds. Murphy fired, and suddenly it was six to two. She spared him a glance – since when had he gotten good with a gun? - before shooting another zombie, dropping it. Five to go. 

Then, the two zombies on their side did the damnedest thing Warren had ever seen: they ducked to the side. 

“What the fuck?” Murphy said. 

“Are they...zig-zagging?” She fired again, and missed entirely as the zombie lurched to the other side. 

“ _What the fuck?!_ ” Murphy shouted.

“Zig-zag my ass,” Warren muttered, training her weapon long enough to shoot one of the other zombies before the other three came around the back of the van. She stepped in front of Murphy and kicked the first zombie in the knee, making it stumble enough the other two crashed into it and all three went down.

The crack of Murphy's gun was loud near her head, but she heard him hiss “Yes!” which meant they were down to these last three. Warren unsheathed her machete just as one of the zombies lurched upward, and she managed to catch it with her back-swing, slicing off the top of its head. 

The two zombies left paused and then leapt together towards her, and Warren was so startled by the coordinated attack things might have gone south if Murphy hadn't reached by her and yanked one of them away. She grappled with the other one, slammed it's head into the side of the van once, twice, a third time, before finally smashing its head through the window. She pulled its body back out and threw it to the ground, and then stabbed her machete through its brain. 

Panting, Warren turned to help Murphy, but he was having a staring contest with the last zombie. An older man, not too long dead from the looks of it. 

“Well?” Warren whispered harshly. “Mercy it.”

The zombie turned its head towards her, snarling, and Murphy growled at it. “Not her,” he warned it, a dangerous look on his face. Warren felt a shiver roll through her. She'd stopped being afraid of Murphy and his powers a long time ago, which meant whatever had the hairs standing up on her arms was something else that she was not ready to look too closely at. 

Frustrated, unsettled, Warren sliced her machete through the zombie's head, and it slumped in Murphy's grasp. 

“Hey!”

“You want to wait around for more to show up?”

He frowned but let the body drop to the ground. “You got blood on my sunglasses,” he whined, taking them off and wiping them on his dirty shirt. He looked like regular Murphy again, but she couldn't stop staring at the way his long, red fingers flashed against the black of his shirt. 

“I'll get you a new pair,” she said, forcing herself to turn away. Warren climbed into the driver's seat and found keys in the ignition and when she turned them, the van started with a cough. None of this made any damn sense, least of all the way her heart was still pounding though the fight was done. Murphy slid into the passenger side, re-arranged the seat so he could stretch his legs out in front of him. Had he always had such muscular thighs?

 _Stop it,_ she snapped at herself. 

She looked out the window at the bodies they'd left on the ground. “They ambushed us,” she said. 

“I was there. You gonna start actually driving or what?”

“How the hell did zombies ambush us?”

“We saw some weird shit on the way to Newmerica. It even sounded like one of the zombies talked. I don't know what was in that drone, but things are different.”

She remembered the zombie she and Cooper had seen by the farmhouse, the way it – she - had cowered, afraid of Cooper's gun. Against her will, Warren remembered Cooper, too; his quiet strength, the way he felt in her arms, his face when she'd opened the trunk and found Murphy inside. Everything had shifted in that instant. 

“Warren.” She shook her head, her vision swimming a little. “Warren,” Murphy said more urgently, and when she turned to look at him, he was leaning closer, staring at her, worry bright in his weirdly beautiful eyes. “You okay? Do I need to drive first?”

“No, I'm fine.” She rubbed her hands over her face. She needed things to make sense. “You use a gun now.”

“I lost the sword and didn't really feel like dying in the apocalypse yet. Which reminds me.” He pulled his weapon out, confidently checked it and set the safety. “Don't want that going off if you hit a bump. Like to keep all my parts in one piece.”

The same Murphy, she thought, but different in ways she was just starting to appreciate. “How long to Newmerica?”

“If you drive like you usually do and we can get more gas, then three or four days at most if the signs were right.” 

Warren took a deep breath and started driving onward, hoping the world would stop shifting for just a few more days.

**********

“Is that a giant potato?”

“Sure looks like it.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder, staring at the rusted flatbed truck with a huge potato statue on it. The potato and truck had bullet holes and graffiti all over them, but Warren could faintly make out the words “Spud Drive In” underneath the mess along the side of the truck bed. 

“I don't think this one is gonna run,” Warren said, “but let's see if anyone caught a last movie before the apocalypse.”

They'd scrounged enough gas to push the van for almost two days of solid driving, but had to abandon it a few hours behind them when it had finally run out. Murphy had pointed out the huge movie screen to the south as they'd walked, and they'd headed towards it to see if they could find something to get them the last stretch to Newmerica. 

“Shit, we're in Idaho?” Murphy asked, pointing at the giant Idaho license plate on the back of the movie screen. 

“Looks like it.”

“We went too far west!”

“I told you we should've turned north at Nebraska. Come on.” Warren pulled her gun out and peeked around the screen. She saw a handful of mostly stripped cars, and some already mercied zombies. “Looks like others had the same idea.”

Murphy came up next to her, planted his hands on his hips.” I haven't been to the drive-in since my twenties. Back when it was still cool.”

“I used to sneak into the drive in when I was a teenager,” Warren said, feeling a wave of unexpectedly sweet nostalgia. She made it a point to try not to think of the pre-apocalypse world, but this felt like the memory she would have had no matter what the world was like. A memory of childhood and freedom and the future stretching endlessly before her. The treasured memory of the girl she was that any woman would hold dear. 

Murphy mock gasped. “The honorable Roberta Warren broke the law?”

“How do you think I learned to hotwire cars?”

“I thought it was a mechanic thing.”

Warren smirked. “I could hotwire a car long before I could fix one.”

“Such a rebel in your youth.”

“Catholic school will do that to you.” She holstered her gun and went to a nearby zombie, crouching down next to it. It had only been dead weeks, not years. She looked up, but the area remained still and quiet. 

“Did your Catholic school have uniforms?”

“Mm-hm,” she said, and then added teasingly, “skirts and knee-high socks.” Murphy groaned in a very satisfying way, and Warren flushed. “Anyway,” she added, standing quickly, her cheeks hot, “let's split up. We need to check to see if someone may have missed a car. If it looks like it has most of an engine, call me over and I'll see if I can get it running.” 

She couldn't meet his eyes, so she beelined for the nearest vehicle, a sedan which was missing a hood and most of the engine bloc. When she heard him rustling around in a car further away, she did look at him then, watched him try the hood, curse, and then suck on his finger. He lifted the hood with his other hand, peered inside, and then let it slam shut again, the air puffing his jacket out behind him. Then he sauntered to another car, lifted it swiftly and cleanly, before dropping it, too. She'd gotten used to his new red skin, his mottled eyes and floppy hair. But watching him move, the way he ate up ground with his long strides and easy, confident demeanor, was still so new she was mesmerized by it. In the years since they'd met, he'd been many things: nervous, selfish, angry, awkward, smug. But even when he called himself the messiah and meant it he'd never seemed so...comfortable. 

She had to admit it was attractive. 

“Do not be a damn fool,” she murmured to herself, moving to a truck to check it out. No battery or starter, but if they could find working ones, it could be fixed. She patted it and moved to the next vehicle, glanced up to find Murphy a distance away, stretching his arms above his head, his shirt riding up to expose a strip of his red stomach. Her own stomach fluttered. He noticed her looking and waved. “Nothing yet!” he shouted.

“You're just grateful Murphy showed you who Cooper really was. This is all just some weird stress response,” she told herself firmly, giving him an acknowledging wave back. “That is all this is.” _What if it had been Doc who found you?_ she thought, poking a hole in her own convenient excuse. She loved Doc, would have been thrilled to see him, but whatever these butterflies in her stomach were doing she wouldn't have had them for Doc. The honest truth was if Cooper had been a good man, she wouldn't have left him for Doc, but she wasn't sure what she would have done about Murphy. 

And it hadn't been Doc or the others who had come for her at all. It had been Murphy, alone, following their bond. 

Warren sighed, letting the hood on the car she had barely even looked at slam back down. “Crap,” she muttered. She'd spent a little over a month with Cooper, had loved the future they were building even if she wasn't sure she yet loved the man she was building it with. But it had all been a lie that, deep down, her heart had known all along. People didn't get happy-ever-afters away from the apocalypse. They got a few days away, a few weeks if they were really lucky, but the apocalypse always dragged you back. Any happiness she'd ever held onto through eight years of hell came from what she'd staked and claimed as her own inside of it, and that mostly meant the friends – the family – she'd found with Operation Bitemark. 

She watched Murphy shrug off his jacket and use it as a pillow to lay down across the hood and still intact windshield of one of the cars. “Are you taking a nap?” she shouted across the drive-in to him.

“Well you were just standing there,” he shouted back. “I thought we were done.”

Warren shook her head. “This guy?” she asked her heart, but she already knew the answer. Had probably known it since they parted in the drone hangar, when she couldn't bring herself to touch him out of fear it would make it too hard to leave. He'd told her before that he needed her, but when had she started to need him just as much? 

“We're not doing this now,” she told herself. She opened the hood again to search and found nothing of value in it, or any of the other cars she examined after. Looked like they'd have to do more walking. Steeling herself against the way her heart continued to jump, she joined Murphy next to his makeshift couch, slapped his boot when she realized he was sleeping. Again. 

He jerked and then exhaled loudly. “It's you. Any luck?”

“Everything useful has been taken. We're gonna have to walk to Newmerica.” 

“Ughhhhhh.” 

“Come on, Hellboy, let's get going.”

“Hah hah, very clever, like I haven't heard that ten times already from Doc. And I think we should stay.” He patted the hood next to him. “It's getting close to sundown. We can take in an imaginary movie and then leave in the morning.”

Warren scanned the drive-in lot again, considering. There was nothing hiding here, and they had visibility for miles on every side. It still felt dangerous to climb on top of that car with Murphy, though.

“We can stay, but I'm not in the mood for a movie, imaginary or otherwise.” 

He looked disappointed, but jumped down off of the car and tugged his jacket back on. “Maybe later,” he said. “I'll get a fire started.”

They lit a small fire sheltered by three cars near each other, and ate the last of their fresh food. 

“Back to crickets tomorrow,” Warren said. 

“Can't we find some fish in Montana?” 

“How are you planning on catching them?”

He patted the gun he'd set down next to him, and Warren rolled her eyes. 

They finished their meal, packed everything away, and pulled out cushions from the cars to make semi-beds around the fire. Warren stared up at the ripped movie screen in front of them and tried to remember what being young and carefree had been like. Back then she would have just leaned over and kissed the boy she liked. 

She glanced at Murphy, who was lying on his back, head pillowed on his arms and staring at the sky. He looked peaceful, his sharp features smooth and calm. He seemed to feel her staring, because he turned his head, lifted a brow. “What?”

Warren pursed her lips. “Just wondering what you were like as a teenager.”

“You wouldn't have liked me.”

“What makes you think I like you now?” she said, smiling. 

He made a face but then grinned wickedly. “I would've tried to hit on you in that uniform of yours.” 

“I might've let you,” she said, and watched a whole run of emotions flash in his eyes in the firelight. 

“Roberta.” His voice was deep, and serious, and her heart stuttered and went tight in her chest. They were in the open air but she suddenly couldn't breathe at all. 

“I, uh, I need some air,” she said, standing, stumbling forward into the darkness. She headed for the movie screen, leaving his confused questions behind. Warren leaned against the splintered wood of the support and gulped in air. It had been foolish to flirt, to think that everything was okay even for a moment. “You know better,” she whispered to the empty night. She couldn't bear the weight of what he wanted, not now, not here where her bright past and their grim present collided. Maybe someday. Maybe in Newmerica. 

When she'd slowed her breathing and her galloping heart, she walked slowly back to the fire. Murphy seemed like he was asleep so she coughed, quietly, but he didn't stir. Nodding a little, Warren laid down and stayed awake long into the night, watching the fire die.

**********

The next morning neither one of them said much, and they were back on the road shortly after dawn. The sunrise limned the dewy grass to either side of the road, leaving it sparkling. Murphy wasn't upset, just quiet, and they walked north and a little east for hours, fishing through his pack for the last crumbs of food without even slowing down.

They found a stream running cold and clear in the middle of the afternoon and stopped there to rest and refill their water bottles. 

“Hey I'm gonna, uh, clean my chest and armpits,” Murphy said, pulling off his jacket. He looked nervous. “I haven't had a rinse in, well, it's better you don't know. I'm not trying to, you know,” he gestured awkwardly. “Do anything.”

She realized he was trying to be respectful after last night. It was unexpectedly considerate and oddly adorable. “It's fine,” she said, smiling. “Go ahead, I'll keep an eye out.” 

He nodded and pulled off his shirt, and she had to bite her lip to keep from making an inappropriate noise. Her heart may not be ready, but her body was having none of that nonsense. Murphy hadn't seemed to notice her at all, and he crouched down by the river bed, sluicing water over his head and shoulders. She watched the droplets run down the broad span of his back, shimmering in the sunlight. Oh this was not good. 

Warren looked away and then immediately looked back, saw he was splashing water over his chest and under his arms. It dripped down his slender waist and into the top of his pants. 

“Girl, do not go there,” she warned herself quietly. When he stood and ran his hands back over his head, smoothing his hair down, his lean muscles shifting under red skin, the warning didn't help at all. 

He turned and picked up his shirt from the ground and as he stood he caught her gaze and stilled. They stared silently at each other across the distance, water dripping slowly from the hair that curled at Murphy's neck and following a path down his chest to his waistband. Warren swallowed and tucked her own hair behind her ear. She didn't know what to do with her hands, so she clasped them in front of her, and then behind, and then grabbed her own elbows. 

Murphy stepped towards her, then paused to pull his shirt back on. He was still fifteen feet away, but she heard him clearly when he said in a gentle tone, “I don't know what you want.”

“I don't either.”

He inclined his head. “What should we do, then?”

She wanted to touch the hair at the nape of his neck so badly her fingers itched. “What would you do?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “First I would get closer to you. Can we start there?”

“Yes.” Her heart sped up with each step he took nearer, until she was sure he could hear it pounding when he was an arm's length away. She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes. His beard and lips were wet. 

“Better,” he said. She could feel his warmth now, and it soothed and stirred her at the same time. 

“Now what?” she asked. 

“I'd like to touch you,” he said, and heat raced through her, until she felt like if he didn't touch her she might combust. 

“Go ahead,” she said, and her voice was hoarse. 

Murphy brought his hands up and cupped her face, watching her closely. He rubbed his thumb over the arch of her cheek, and she leaned into him. “Six years and I've hardly ever touched you,” he murmured. “You feel great.” 

He just kept smoothing his thumb over her cheek, his hands hot on her face but not moving further. He seemed happy just to hold her head in his hands and smile down at her, and something in her heart eased. She dropped her arms to her sides and licked her lips. “I know what I want,” she said, and felt his fingers tighten against her skin. She wrapped the thin fabric of his shirt in her hand and tugged him closer. 

Warren didn't even have a chance to get on her tiptoes before Murphy was bending towards her, his hands moving back into her hair as he brought his lips near hers. He paused, a breath away. 

“You're sure?” he whispered, and she tasted the words on her tongue. 

She nodded once and he swallowed her 'yes' when he kissed her. 

Warren had spent a shocking amount of her apocalypse arguing with this man, but kissing him was easy, like they'd been misusing their mouths for all these years. His hands were strong where they tangled in her hair, but she felt supported, not trapped. She settled, like the world had finally stopped spinning and come to rest here. When she pressed her hands to his chest for balance, she could feel his wild heartbeat in her fingers. 

He broke the kiss first, pulled back to search her face. She grabbed his forearms to keep him from pulling away entirely. “You don't look mad,” he said. 

“Why would I be mad? I asked you to do it.”

“Honestly I wasn't sure I wasn't having some sort of amazing hallucination.” 

Warren dropped her chin to her chest and laughed. “Murphy.” She looked up at him from under her lashes, tugged one of the still-wet locks of hair at his neck. “You Bo Derek'ed me.”

“Warren, trust me when I say that if that was what did it, I would have jumped in a lake years ago.” 

“I asked you to jump in a lake lots of times.”

Murphy laughed, slid his hands down her to gently cup the back of her neck. “I really want to kiss you again,” he said. “Right here,” he added, stroking the curve where her shoulder met her neck. 

“Give it a try. Let's see what happens.” 

The roar of a truck engine nearby cut between them, and they jumped apart, Warren pulling her gun, Murphy grabbing his and his jacket from the ground nearby. 

“This way,” she said, nodding at a clump of trees. They sheltered inside just as a military truck trundled down the road, stopping a little ways away. A couple of armed soldiers jumped out, scanned the area, and then banged on the side of the truck, from which emerged a small crowd of people. There were a couple of young kids who ran straight for the stream, a woman who seemed to be their mother shouting after them, and several other small groups who stretched and smiled and talked excitedly. 

“How much longer to Newmerica?” one of the older men asked the guard, and Warren looked up at Murphy in surprise. 

He looked down and shrugged. “Should we go with them?” he whispered. 

Warren considered it. The group looked safe, and as haggardly hopeful as those who'd been at the Marines' camp waiting for Newmerica last year. It would be smart to go with them. She reached for Murphy's hand, linked their fingers together while he looked questioningly at her. But she couldn't put any of what her heart wanted into words, so she squeezed his hand and hoped that would be enough. When she started to take a step out, he tugged her back and turned her into his arms. 

“Warren.” He stopped, shook his head. She could see the worry and wonder about what was to come, about what they might leave behind. 

“Let's see what happens,” she reminded him, and he nodded and let her go. She knew he would, no matter what she had said. Warren patted his cheek, his beard soft against her hand, her heart soft inside her chest. 

“Okay,” she said, squaring her shoulders and stepping out of the trees. _Maybe in Newmerica._

**Author's Note:**

> Spud Drive-In is a [real place](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spud_Drive-In_Theater) and the giant potato statue is real, too. Them going too far west is entirely due to an interview I heard with Dan Merchant while writing this when he clarified that Newmerica is actually way more middle of Canada than I had thought. But it fit in the story, so I got to keep Spud.


End file.
